


Safe Haven

by WahlBuilder



Series: 30 days of rarepairs [11]
Category: Arrow (TV 2012), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-07-14
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:56:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15286164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WahlBuilder/pseuds/WahlBuilder
Summary: Slade has a nightmare.





	Safe Haven

**Author's Note:**

> A mix of Arrowverse and comics.

‘It will be okay, honey.’

He nodded, because he always did, and Adeline pulled a sack on his head. The sack was black and thick, but he could see through it, could see Adeline’s smile and all her teeth, sharp and wet with blood, and all her eyes.

‘Just do what I say, honey.’

He put his hands behind his back because she wanted him to, and she bound them tight even though she was still standing in front of him and her teeth dripped with his blood. He was naked except for the sack on his head (the sack he could and couldn’t see through), because that’s what Adeline wanted.

She leaned to him and stayed unmoving at the same time, blood dripping down her many teeth, and a knife was in her hand. His heart started beating faster, he struggled, but his hands were bound, he tried to scream, but the sack rushed into his mouth, his throat, he couldn’t get out—

Slade gasped, his mouth dry, reached up to tear the sack off his head— and realised it wasn’t there.

He stared into the darkness, heart hammering in his chest in a stuttering rhythm. He was covered in sweat, his skin hot and clammy. He wanted to get out, wanted to wet his mouth and make sure it wasn’t filled with cloth.

‘Slade?’

He stared in bewilderment to his left. At Ollie.

Right. Gods, he was not alone. 

His heartbeat was not slowing down.

Slade closed his eye, trying to slow his breathing, for Ollie’s sake. ‘Go to sleep, kid.’ Slade turn his head to his right, recalling that Ollie was not the only bed companion. Roy was curled up on the edge of the bed, blankets and sheets wrapped around him as usual like a cocoon that he would deny to have stolen in the morning. Only a mop of hair was visible over the lump.

Roy didn’t seem to have been woken by his... what? Had he been thrashing? He remembered the.. No, he couldn’t remember, the details of the dream already fading—but the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach was still present.

He hated it.

‘Slade.’ Ollie’s voice was quiet, gentle, and for a brief moment Slade hated him for it, too. Just for a moment.

‘Sorry I woke you,’ he said just as quietly, though usually Roy was out so soundly you could push him off the bed and he wouldn’t wake. They had tried that.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he made a face at how sweaty and dirty he felt. Probably not the most pleasant sleeping companion either.

A sack over his head— No. No, no, he didn’t want to dwell on it, didn’t want to remember it, didn’t want to...

‘Shh, it’s okay, it was just a dream.’ The hand on his shoulder moved up his neck, into his hair.

He couldn’t bear it. Slade turned his head and caught Ollie’s palm and pressed a desperate kiss to it. He didn’t want to remember a stupid fucking dream, he wanted Ollie and Roy and to sleep peacefully.

Ollie’s fingers curled, callouses dragging against Slade’s skin. ‘Hold on a sec, okay?’

Ollie’s hand disappeared, and Slade regretted his kiss already— no, there was nothing wrong with that. There was nothing wrong with seeking affection or wanting comfort. He squeezed his eye shut and counted his breaths, his heartbeat turning slowly to normal. 

The bed rustled and creaked on Ollie’s side, and Slade, not wishing his mind to wander while he counted his breaths, focused on Ollie’s movements instead, training his hearing solely on him.

A soft pat—Ollie’s feet on the floor. Then heavy, unsteady footsteps—he was not exactly quiet because he was not exactly awake. Padding away, to the bathroom. No flick of the light switch—would blind him rather than help him. A rush of water in the sink, too heavy because Ollie was sleepy-uncoordinated. The water was muffled, then the tap was closed. A wet rustle. Padding back.

The mattress dipping under Ollie’s knee, making Slade want to curl his fingers over it, to run a thumb over the thin, delicate skin on the underside, to kiss the inner thigh. Instead, he stayed sprawled on his back, waiting for Ollie’s move.

Another rustle, and a cool wet towel touched his forehead. Slade exhaled. Ollie wiped his face, his neck, his shoulders, each arm—slowly, methodically. Unhurried. Ran the towel down his chest. ‘You are safe, Slade. You are home. We will protect you.’

He startled when a hot body pressed to him from the right, somewhat ruining the cooling effect of the towel, but Roy threw an arm over his waist, and his hair was tickling Slade’s neck, and he smelled of cinnamon soap and lavender sheets. ‘Yeah,’ Roy mumbled. ‘What he said, old man.’

Ollie finished wiping his skin, left to the bathroom again, and soon returned and cuddled to Slade from the left, his arm over Roy’s on Slade. Keeping him anchored.

Yes. He was safe.


End file.
